


The Lord on the Devil's Acre

by greygerbil



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, Heat Sex, M/M, Pseudo-Regency London, first time sleeping together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 08:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Watchman Nick Wright did not expect to be drawn into courtly politics, nor ever thought that he would marry a duke, and he didn't really ask for either. People like him know you don't always get to choose in life, though, and you should make the best of what you're given regardless. Now if only his husband would see it that way...





	The Lord on the Devil's Acre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jougetsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/gifts).



Nick had not become a man of the London city watch for fame and fortune; he’d started out here to pay off the debts his drunkard father had left him, and that was altogether a better reason. The watch got you steady money, if not a lot of it, but most of the recognition was small time crooks spitting on you at the pub after your shift. Being the captain in the area around the Almonry – or the Devil’s Acre, as people called it – wasn’t exactly a distinction either; gossip within the watch had it that it marked the person not smart or quick enough to pass the buck. The sparse few coins you got on top of your salary did not make up for the many more hours on your feet, in truth, but Nick had never terribly minded. He had some fast friends among his fellow men and women of the watch, people greeted him by name when he ambled past their closing shops at night, and he could boast of a long list of people he’d brought to the stocks and the gaol in his time here. There were worse things to do with your time. Of course, if you’d told him a fortnight ago that this life would net him the hand of the king’s chief adviser, he’d have dragged you to Bedlam himself.

But here he stood now, dressed up in a borrowed suit, complete with lily-white cravat and ill-fitted, knee-high boots that squeezed his toes. Across the heads of many high-born people, he stared at Kitty, Chapple and Rose, who seemed equally as uncomfortable as him in their finest garments, which looked like rags next to the dresses and suits of the lords and ladies that crowded them on all sides. The king was giving a toast to the newlyweds.

The fight that had landed him here featured in the king’s speech, of course. It sounded more grandiose each time it was retold. Nick, for his part, remembered it being much less spectacular: the first image in his head was smoke billowing over the rooftops, the air bitter on his tongue as he cursed, blindly racing down a back alley towards the small office of the Almonry watch. The city had teemed like an anthill right after a horse had put its hoof in it. Rumours had flown as fast as the feet of fleeing people and the wheels of the hackneys over the pavement, but there was some agreement that the allies of King Henry’s uncle, Prince Richard, were attacking the city in a bid to put their favoured monarch on the throne.

Of course, Nick had known they wouldn’t come to raze the Devil’s Acre of all places, first and foremost because most people would hardly be able to tell the difference before and after an army had trampled through, and no one important set foot here unless it was to visit a brothel. But flames spread quickly in the brittle, decaying buildings that stood cramped as people in a crowd here, and the dry summer winds carried fires from loftier parts of the city towards the Almonry. He’d been determined to fetch his people and at least try to keep this under control.

Turning a corner, Nick had run hard into the shoulder of the man who would change the course of his fate forever, but he wouldn’t have known it then for the life of him. All he had seen was a tall figure draped head to toe in a black cape, his big hand holding on tightly to a little girl’s wrist, squeezing it punishingly hard.

“Help me!” the girl had wailed.

Nick had looked at her for a split second. Her face had been tear-smeared and dirtied, but framed by hair that was cut primly, and her dirt-spattered dress was made of silk. A kidnapping to extort money from a well-off family, or some sick bastard stealing his next quarry? Who knew? It hadn’t mattered.

He grabbed the man by his arm; the next moment, he had a revolver pressed against his temple. What came after he could hardly say now. There had been a fumbling fight between them as Nick backed the man into a wall, both their grasping fingers struggling for the gun. A knee had gone up hard between his legs and had Nick gasping for air, he’d put a fist in his opponent’s face, and then the man pulled the trigger but Nick boxed the revolver backwards the same moment, and the sound of the gun going off had mixed with the girl screaming in wordless panic. The shot had hit the brick wall by the side of the stranger’s head, dust exploding in their faces, the sound deafening, but Nick was used to that sort of thing. He’d grabbed the disoriented man by the forehead and knocked his skull back against the wall, leaving him to drop unconscious to the ground like a sack of flour.

With his heart still jumping in his chest, Nick had then sat by the girl’s side and had convinced her at last to breathe and tell him her name. It was Mary, she’d sobbed, as he had lifted her in his arms and wondered where the hell to bring this frightened girl now that London was falling apart around them and what to do about the stranger, who’d probably wake up again soon.

That was when His Majesty’s royal guard had turned the corner. 

Nick had soon learned that Prince Richard and his co-conspirators had fled the castle, followed by the guard, but that Richard himself had slipped away with his victim and looked to lose his pursuers in the narrow streets; and that the girl who had buried her face in Nick’s soot-stained shirt was in fact Princess Mary fourth of her name, heiress to the throne.

The king’s speech was met with clapping and cheers. Nick was still waiting for this strange dream to end.

-

With their would-be usurper thrown in the deepest dungeon the rebellion had been quickly brought to heel and Nick had been dragged before the king to speak of his deeds. Nick had felt the same flicker of unease in the room then as he did now, at his wedding. Of course, most people were immensely happy for how things had gone, for there had been many worse possible outcomes. But to have an omega of no bloodline, with unruly stubble and a scar splitting the left half of his face and several chipped teeth, in patched armour and boots with holes, as the saviour of the country... to put it mildly, he did not fit in with the people that had lined the throne room’s walls, that was for sure.

Since he’d not had the good sense to be born into nobility or at least money before he’d decided to save a princess, the king had decided to fix it for Nick. Within days of his introduction at court, he was invited back and offered, as well as strongly encouraged, to take the hand of William Carew, Duke of Somerset, chief adviser to the king, currently not at court due to a diplomatic mission to one of the rebel lords.

Nick, who’d managed to do little but stammer ‘yes, Your Grace’ whenever presented with demands from the king, anyway, had done the same on this occasion.

-

With Duke William Carew obviously busy in such a tumultuous time, Nick had not laid eyes on him before he saw him standing at the other end of the endless aisle of Westminster Abbey. He was taller than Nick by a good bit, but thin like a young birch, handsome, with long dark hair pulled into a strict ponytail and alreadys flecked with grey, matching the frown lines in his face. Nick figured them to be the same age. Carew’s fingers, unlike Nick’s, had not been calloused as he took Nick’s hand in his on behest of the bishop. Both their noses were bent, but where Nick’s was crooked because it had been broken a couple of times, Carew’s looked well-formed like an eagle’s beak. His green eyes were bright and clear like jewels, and his arch brows made him seem like he continually seized up the object of his focused gaze.

They had kissed at the end of the ceremony, a touch that felt quick and formal. Carew’s lips had been cold.

-

With the festivities ongoing, there had been little time to even speak to his husband. As the crowd dispersed somewhat after supper, Carew was beset by other lords and ladies and Nick, separated and adrift, fled to his friends and fellow watchmen, the only guests belonging to his side. They offered him congratulations and half-hearted jeers and jests about the upcoming wedding night, pretending that this wasn’t the weirdest bloody thing that had ever happened to any of them.

“You can never tell with nobles,” Rose muttered, scratching her cheek. “They could spend every evening in the dirtiest brothels, or they’ll be confused when you do as much as try to get them off with your hand.”

“To be honest, as long as he doesn’t throw me out, I’ll be glad.”

To Nick, being an omega had never been much of an issue, in fact, he barely thought about it most days. In places like the Almonry or the Mint, where Nick hailed from, no one could afford to feed someone who didn’t earn their keep, so most omegas worked. He got shit about his nature from his colleagues sometimes, dirty jokes most, which he answered in kind; and to be sure, some threats from criminals, but his mouth was big enough and the punches he threw strong enough to make it clear where the line was. He wasn’t what most alphas thought of when they imagined an omega, not very pretty nor very agreeable, but there were still enough willing to give him a tumble when the heat demanded it, and that was about all Nick cared about.

But what about an alpha like William Carew? Did he wish him to quit working entirely and learn to play the pianoforte to entertain the guests? Did he want a blushing virgin in his bed? Likely the chief adviser to the king wasn’t stupid enough to think Nick would be able to fulfil such desires – the king’s people had questioned the entire Devil’s Acre’s about Nick, after all, and Nick doubted he was so complicated that they hadn’t come back with a vaguely accurate idea of who he was. But then, it wasn’t Carew who’d made him the offer. It could be that behind his polite smile, he was seething.

“You ever wonder what this bloke’s done to piss off the king so much he married him to me?” he asked his friends over the rim of his glass of wine. “Some little lord would have been enough if he’d just wanted me in polite society. This must be something else.”

“Started a war,” Kitty guessed.

“Fucked the queen?” Rose offered.

Nick snorted.

“At least he probably wouldn’t be stiff as a bloody board if that’s true. Could be fun,” he mused.

“Shouldn’t you go talk to him?” Kitty asked, pushing against Nick’s back. “Where is he, anyway?”

Nick pointed his glass in the direction of where he’d last seen Carew, standing before a row of ceiling-high windows surrounded by a dozen men and women in expensive garments. The king had opened up his own festival hall for the celebration.

“If you wanna help me barge in there, go right ahead, but I’m not breaking up those lords and ladies.”

Kitty grimaced. “At least the wine is good,” she offered, apologetically.

From her reaction, Nick figured the gaze he had sent his husband had been a bit too displeased. He gave a brief shake of his head. There was really no reason to be melancholy. He’d made a better match than anyone of his position could ever hope for; it was just that he was quite aware why people usually didn’t, not seriously, anyway. There was marrying above your station – for Nick, that might have meant a trader with a little town house or an industrious lawyer – and then there was asking for trouble.

“Here’s to hoping he doesn’t have me quietly taken care of to replace me with a better husband. You’ll try to solve it if he does do away with me, won’t you?”

Rose laughed.

“We’ll try for certain, captain. But if you get killed in a Mayfair house, they aren’t gonna let us drag our dirty boots in, sorry to say.”

“Don’t be like that. He could be a decent bloke, that Carew, he could,” Chapple said. He’d been quietly working his way through a tray of tiny cheese-and-fruit arrangements. “You don’t know.”

“No, I don’t,” Nick said and took another gulp of wine.

-

It was deep into the night when a footman led Nick to the carriage that would bring him to his new home at Grosvenor Square, the Duke of Somerset’s London residence, where he reportedly spent most of his year. By this point, Nick was drunk enough that his nerves had mostly settled into a quiet, uncomfortable hum, which was better than having his stomach do summersaults. He was still fumbling with the cravat, which had somehow managed to wander off-centre, when the door opened again to admit Carew.

“Good evening, sir,” he said.

“Good evening – m’lord,” Nick answered, remembering the proper formality just in time, and let the cravat be.

The door was closed and the carriage started with a gentle rattle of wheels, its shudder softened by the cushion under Nick’s backside.

“It won’t be a long drive,” Carew assured him, unasked, after a moment.

“That so?” Nick gave back, unable to think of something else. “Beg your pardon, I don’t know the streets here so well.”

“Just twenty minutes or so, I should think. Are you very tired?”

“I usually cover the night shift. I’m a bit of a night owl.”

Carew nodded at him. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them and Nick racked his brain for something to fill it with. Shyness had never been a problem of his, but he didn’t usually have to deal with lords, and, with all respects, he was grateful for it. Thankfully, Carew picked up the abandoned ball.

“Have you been with the watch long, Mr Wright?”

“Since I was fourteen, m’lord. About twenty-five years now.”

“That’s impressive. I would not know if I’d have the heart.”

“It’s not so bad a job as all that,” Nick said, feeling his pride bristle a little. His friends and him griped about their work every night while drinking at the _Blue Man_ , their favourite pub, but it was different when a lord did it. Carew hadn’t ever had boots on the ground on the Devil’s Acre; he didn’t know how pretty it could look come sunrise, or the friendly old whores down by the riverside huts who would chat with you on slow evenings, or the squealing kids playing in the alleys who waved when the watchmen went by. “I guess it’s more likely you’ll get stabbed if you work it. But as to that, getting stabbed in the Almonry is pretty easy, anyway.”

Carew nodded his head, a sharp gaze directed at Nick’s face. Nick resolved not to try joking anymore tonight. He couldn’t tell if Carew had no sense of humour or if he was just too drunk to be funny, but either way it wasn’t working.

“Do you plan on continuing?”

Nick heard how careful his noble husband had picked his tone and wondered what he wished to hear. If he said he wanted to quit, would Care think him after the money? If he said he wanted to remain, would he be considered wilful? Nick figured that in the end, saying the truth was perhaps his best bet. It was the answer he would be able to stand behind, anyway.

“I’d do it if I could, m’lord. But I know the place. No one cared about old Nick from the Mint, but if I’m Nick, husband of the Duke of Somerset, that’ll draw attention. I may be the one ending up snatched away next.” He shrugged. “So I figured I might petition the lord commander of the watch to give me oversight of a few boroughs. I’d still have a way to keep an eye on my people, but I’d be doing most of my work during daylight hours. With the reputation and connections I have now, well, it’s not the honourable way, I know... but I could push my will through, I reckon. If you’re fine with it.”

Because that was the catch, wasn’t it? His alpha could tell him he wasn’t allowed. He watched Carew, who had stapled his hands in his lap.

“That’s very sensible of you,” he said approvingly. “Though of course I must mention it is well within my means to support you . Twenty-five years with the watch are long enough in anyone’s eyes, retiring would be absolutely no shame to you.”

“I’d rather work, to be honest. Dunno what I’d be doing sitting in a mansion all day. Though I’m sure it’s a fine one.”

“Of course. Anything you wish, sir.”

Carew smiled at him again and Nick could all but hear a door slam shut at the sight of that pretty, polished, entirely dishonest expression. Something about his answer hadn’t been right. Maybe he’d been too blunt about the house and now Carew thought him ungrateful, or he’d indeed expected him to stay home.

Well, it was done now and he’d said his piece. Better to get it out than to drag it out, for his opinion wouldn’t change.

Nick glanced out of the carriage window at the passing gas lights, a whole new invention that made the better parts of town a lot more difficult to navigate for pickpockets and cutthroats and drove them even deeper into the dark rat holes that Nick and people like him called home. They were nice-looking enough, though, all those lamps. Nick wondered when some drunkard would smash them.

The streets were broad here and the houses tall and dark. Grosvenor Square was arranged around a geometric collection of small, fenced-in patches of vegetation, which had been planted in a circle with enough spaces between the different specks of green to saunter in-between. Their carriage stopped in front of a house built of brown brick with a heavy wooden door framed by pillars that wouldn’t have looked out of place in one of those sketches of Greek temple ruins Nick had seen in a museum once.

A butler opened the door for them and led them through a narrow entrance hall into the drawing room. The house, what Nick saw of it, was furnished with beautifully carved wooden pieces and thick wine-red curtains as well as large paintings of windswept seaside landscapes. It looked mighty pretty, but Nick thought the place a little desolate, much in the way a crypt might be. There was barely any evidence of human life in the place, which was likely just the result of diligent servants doing their jobs, but a stray newspaper or some crumpled pillows on the sofa wouldn’t have gone amiss.

“I prepared rooms for you on the first floor. There is some furniture there, but of course I wanted you to have a hand in finishing up the design. We can order anything you find missing. These rooms have not been in use other than as guest chambers so far,” Carew told him.

“Rooms?” Nick echoed.

“Two, yes. Will that be enough?”

“Yes, of course,” Nick said, baffled.

Considering he’d a whole one room to himself right now, with the kitchen crammed in and the privy down the hallway shared with five other tenants of the house, and water eternally dripping through the mouldy roof no matter how often Nick attempted to fix it since his landlord wouldn’t, he doubted he would lack for anything here, except maybe peace of mind. However, of that, he said nothing. “I have a chest full of clothes and other such things that I was going to bring over.”

“Just one chest?” Carew asked doubtfully.

“Well, it’s not good to have too much stuff when you live at the Devil’s… the Almonry, m’lord. It’ll just get stolen.”

Carew stared at him in confusion.

“People would steal from a man of the watch?”

“Got some there who would steal from their own mum and not think twice of it,” Nick murmured. “But enough decent people, too, you know? Most are just trying to get by. That’s why it’s still good to have a watch.”

“Yes, I understand,” Carew said with a nod. “Would you like anything to drink? To eat?”

“I’ve done enough eating and drinking at the palace, but I’ll sit with you if you want a snack,” Nick offered.

“No, I will retire now.”

Carew led the way upstairs and halted in front of a door close to the staircase.

“These are your sitting room and your bedchamber,” he said, opening the door for him.

“Thanks,” Nick said, looking at him doubtfully. “But will I not go to yours tonight?”

“Considering how fast all this has gone – that in fact we had no courtship at all –, I would not presume to call you to my room, sir,” Carew explained. “I wish you a very pleasant night.”

With those resolute, friendly words, Carew cancelled their wedding night and Nick was so surprised that he just stood there staring at him for a moment, unsure what to say. Carew gave him a courteous bow of his head before he strode down the length of the hallway.

“If you have any need of me, you can find me here, sir,” Carew said, before opening the door to his room and vanishing inside.

Nick wanted to tell him that he had need of him in the goddamned bedchamber, but he kept his mouth shut. Carew had good manners, but Nick knew when he was being rejected; he certainly wasn’t going to beg or nag anyone to join him in bed, even if his pride hurt something fierce and concern tightened his stomach. If his husband was not going to touch him even on the wedding night, he doubted very much that he had real plans to take him to bed later. Of course, Nick hadn’t exactly chosen Carew, but the same was true for many betrothed all over the country, after all, and he’d endeavoured to make the most of it and perhaps nurse something like regard in time, which was always helped along by a good fuck.

At least he did not have to report back to any of his friends that one of their crass jokes had been true; none of them had guessed he would lie down alone tonight.

-

Their relationship continued as it had started, with barely cordial distance. Carew was much engaged outside the house by the king, who was consolidating his allies and pacifying his opponents and had great need for his chief adviser. Nick petitioned the lord commander of the watch as he’d told Carew he would and was of course instantly heard and offered a much better post than the one he asked for, which Nick quickly declined. He was at home with the chaos of the watch in parts of the city where they were fighting an uphill battle every way, where there was never enough money, never enough time, never enough men, where everyone knew half the watch was corrupt, and enough criminals smashed a window just so they’d get to sleep in vaguely dry cells for the night. It was a set of experiences that had nothing to do with what went on in the lamp-lit Westminster nights and he didn’t have another twenty-five years on the streets in him to learn the rules of those prettier places.

Servants brought Nick’s chest into the rooms he’d been granted. It was all he allowed anyone to do in terms of changing them, repeatedly refusing his husband offers of buying him more furniture, since everything he had looked to be built well enough to last into the next century and was more than he’d ever needed. Besides that, Nick felt self-conscious to take Carew’s money when he lived more like a lodger than a husband. He rejected the allowance that Carew wanted to give him, too, though it was significantly more than even his new salary. Since he didn’t have to spend that money on food or rent or anything to do with everyday life, however, he used it to buy the people of the Devil’s Acre watch new boots with proper soles and truncheons that didn’t have as much chance of breaking as their target. 

“Why don’t you just join him in his bedroom?” Kitty, newly captain now, asked one evening, as they sat crammed with the usual gang at a back table of the _Blue Man_ , drinking bitter ale and shovelling thick stew with pot herbs and stringy beef. “He can’t say worse than ‘no’.”

“I don’t go because I don’t think he _would_ say ‘no’. He’s courteous enough not to send me away if I ask head on. And I don’t want to fuck anyone because they don’t want to embarrass me,” Nick said into his mug. “Besides, he’s barely at home at the moment.”

“Who knows where he spends his time,” Rose said with a shrug. “Might be a losing fight you have on your hands.”

Nick grimaced. He’d had the same thought. Carew had expected this marriage as little as him. Who was to say he didn’t have a lover, perhaps one just as unfitting as Nick himself, who had not had the questionable luck of clashing with the kingdom’s greatest traitor and thus becoming marriage material? Perhaps all he was to Carew was the villain in his tragic romance.

“But why would he not just be busy? The king’s daughter was dragged out of the castle and the city was under attack!” Chapple protested. “I’d be thinking the king wants all his advisers with him.”

“I know,” Nick said, with a brief smile to his more trusting friend. “It’s just that I wouldn’t blame him.”

-

“Did you go to the tailor’s appointment I made for you?”

Nick looked up in surprise. The rare nights his husband made it home in time for supper, he would usually fall into a tired silence after they had exchanged a few pleasantries. Even Carew’s greatest exertion of good manners could not hide the dark circles under his eyes and Nick thought it best not to attempt conversation with him while it looked like he was going to fall asleep in his pigeon pie.

“I did,” he said, belatedly.

He’d felt a right fool standing in that tailor’s fancy shop getting measured like a display dummy, but since a footman had told him that his husband had asked him to go, he had of course done so. A couple of weeks later, an assortment of shirts, suits, waistcoats, two jackets and new boots had been delivered by someone straight to his rooms. They were nice enough that Nick had barely dared to touch them.

“I have never seen you wear these clothes,” Carew said with a glance at Nick’s old shirt.

“Well – they’re not really suited for the kind of work I do,” Nick said. “I’m not out there wrestling crooks anymore, but they’d get stained and such. Besides, you don’t want to look too sharp in most of the places I oversee even during the day.”

“I see,” Carew said after a small pause. “But at home?”

“You’re barely here, so I’d be wearing them for myself and the servants,” Nick pointed out. “And they’re so nice, besides, I figured they were for court. Wouldn’t want to ruin them before I get to use them properly.”

“That was not their purpose, I assure you. We can always have more made, anyway. It’s an inconsequential expense.”

“If you’d like to see me in them, I can wear them,” Nick noted, making himself grin as he put a bit of flirt into his voice. “You picked the stuff, didn’t you? Is that the kind of clothes you like on your men?”

“Oh – no, I am perfectly fine with whatever you chose to wear. I would not impose my will on you,” Carew said, with some trepidation in his voice, and turned quickly to his glass of water.

Nick looked down at his plateful of peas swimming in mince sauce and suppressed a sigh.

He wished his husband would impose a little more, but that was the last he ever heard Carew say of the clothes.

-

Though he got to see so little of Carew and all his interactions with him convinced Nick his husband was perfectly unhappy with the arrangement, Nick felt a certain quiet affection grow for him. For once, though a paramour might still be sitting in the palace wings somewhere, Carew was no doubt very industrious and really did work a lot. Even at home, Nick often saw him bent over official-looking letters. As a duke, he could have easily sat on his money and not lifted a finger for the whole of his life, but that didn’t seem to be his way, and Nick couldn’t fault a man who kept busy.

Furthermore, Nick had had time to get to know the servants, since their master was unavailable so often, and more important than getting to talk to them – no servant would badmouth their master to his husband’s face –, he’d eavesdropped on quite a few conversation that all pointed to the fact that Carew treated them properly. Sadly, you couldn’t count on that. Lots of nobles were good to their friends and fellow people of status and dreadful to the staff.

Lastly, for how coldly he treated Nick, Carew had never once been impolite or insulting. That, however, Nick could not bring himself to count as one of his virtues. In truth, he kind of wanted Carew to have a bit too much wine and call him a street rat one of these evenings, or tell him he was too ugly to take to bed. It’d have been something more substantial than his eternal polite smile, at least. Perhaps men of Carew’s status just never spoke that honestly, though. Maybe they just sat at your side until the day they stole your daughter and tried to burn the city down from the gates to the palace.

These thoughts went through Nick’s head again as he laid spread-eagle on the wide bed he had occupied alone for near two months now. Falling asleep was always difficult for him here. He used to curse his neighbours, their constant shouting, their kids squealing and trampling at all hours of the day and night, the noises from the parents’ bedrooms you could hear through the walls, the drunks from the alehouse across the street singing off key and starting fights that Nick felt he should probably go end... but now that it was all gone, it always seemed quiet as a graveyard. The noise of a stage coach pulling across the cobblestones outside could wake him from the deepest dreams in this unnatural silence.

It was while focusing in on the nothing that he noticed an odd cracking sound from downstairs. It was loud enough that it should have reverberated through the house for a moment, but subsided abruptly, like someone had silenced it with a muffling hand or cloth. Wood could make such a noise, or a lock being wrenched out of its position...

There were footsteps, too.

Nick threw his legs over the side of the bed. It was far beyond midnight and all the servants should have long gone home.

He opened his bedroom door, which was well-oiled and yielded without a noise, and moved forward towards the stairs on quiet feet. There, he kept close to the shadows of the wall as he moved far enough down to peer through the balustrade onto the ground floor. He caught only a glimpse of the dark-clad man checking the sitting room, knife in hand, and a few inches of several pairs of boots, but that was enough.

Though his heart was pounding in his throat, Nick felt a familiar calm come over him. He wanted to spit a curse, but knew not to speak, or move quickly, or even breathe out of order. His thoughts were clear. Enough years with the watch would teach you to only fall apart after you were no longer at risk of losing your life.

Of course, he doubted it was him they were coming for, and no one sent half a dozen people to break into an expensive town house to murder a footman or scullery maid, either. With quick, quiet steps, Nick approached his husband bedroom door and slid in without knocking, closing it quickly behind himself.

“Sir?”

Carew, who sat in his bed propped up by pillows, stared at him, the book he was reading sinking onto his lap and his cheeks growing a shade of pink.

Without even a hitch in his step, Nick went to the window and tore it open. He’d already determined this was the only way out left.

“We need to leave, m’lord,” he said. “People have come to kill you.”

“What?!”

“Please, trust me,” Nick said, putting some authority in his voice. He leaned forward and glanced up and down. The way to the roof was longer, but there were better footholds. He feared they might fall if they tried to get down to the ground from here, for it was mostly straight brickwork. “There’s too many of them for me to fight. Are you any good with a blade or a pistol?”

“I, I don’t have either,” Carew stammered.

Nick had guessed that much. “Come,” he repeated.

Thankfully, Carew dropped his book and hurried to his side. Where Nick wore only his unclothes and an old tunic ill-fitted over his broad shoulders, Carew was clad in proper night wear, a soft silk shirt and trousers of the same make, with a night jacket on top.

“We won’t make it downstairs now. We have to climb to the roof.”

“But I haven’t climbed since I was a boy!” Carew whispered, aghast.

“I’m afraid there’s no choice.”

Nick trusted that Carew could carry his own weight, even if Carew did not believe it. He was lanky, with lean muscle and no extra pounds, and there were enough windowsills and assorted decorations on the upper part of the house.

“We must go _now_ ,” he hissed, and apparently the urgency in his voice convinced Carew at last.

Nick held out his hand and helped him onto the broad stone windowsill where Carew stood clinging to a protruding piece of window frame, his long hair blown about his face by a brisk, warm wind. Nick followed after him and, stepping out of the way on the sill, closed the winged windows tightly. Hopefully, this would be enough to throw the assassins off their scent and make them search the house instead.

“You’re tall. I bet you could grasp on to the windowsill above,” Nick noted, looking at Carew.

Carew, however, was only looking down at the street, fingers white-knuckled around the stone.

Gently, Nick grasped his shoulder.

“M’lord.”

“Oh – excuse me, I, what, what did you say?” Carew said, somewhat breathless.

“Up,” Nick ordered, inching across to him. “Grab the windowsill above us. You’re tall enough.”

Swallowing, Carew did as he was asked. His hands just reached.

“I’m not sure I can pull myself up just like that.”

“I’ll give you a leg up.”

Nick laced his fingers together and leaned against the window to have some purchase. Carew looked as unhappy as he could, but he did step into Nick’s hands and, when he found that ground steady, hauled himself up. Nick saw Carew’s fingers shaking with fear as he clumsily pulled himself up, grabbing on to the window’s handles. For a moment, Nick was afraid that through sheer disquiet Carew would lose his balance as he saw him lean precariously backwards, but then Carew made the last inches and huddled on the windowsill.

Nick was not tall enough to reach and had no one to push him up, but there were decorative borders that helped him out. He inched up the side of the wall, putting his toes and fingertips into gaps between the bricks.

“Be careful, Nicholas! Sir,” Carew corrected himself, immediately. He was watching him anxiously from above.

Nick had to smile at this much politeness while they were hanging off the side of a building.

“It’s fine,” he assured him as he clambered up onto the windowsill next to him and looked up. The roof was no further away than the window had been.

“Again?” he asked Carew, offering his folded hands palms up, and Carew gave him an uncertain nod.

When Carew had made it onto the rooftop, Nick followed, finding him sitting on the ground looking pale.

“Good God, I hope it is late enough that all the servants have left,” Carew murmured anxiously. “I would not wish them to be caught out.”

“I should think so,” Nick said with a small nod. The staff left at about eleven on normal days and returned sometime at five in the morning, so there were a good few hours in which the house was mostly empty. “But we shouldn’t linger here, just in case those murderers do come looking for us.”

He offered his hand to Carew and pulled him back on his feet. As they stood, he decided to hold on to it. Carew looked like he needed some support and he did not try to pull his hand away.

Thankfully, the flat-top houses stood wall to wall, meaning that they could walk between the chimneys as easily as strolling through the park down below, though they hurried now only to get away. Nick kept an eye on the side of the houses facing away from Grosvenor Square until he found what he was looking for – a black iron ladder, the kind the chimney sweeps would use to get on top.

“Here,” he said, pointing as he let Carew’s hand go.

They descended onto a deserted street. Carew looked to the left and right. His hair was windswept and tangled and his clothes rumpled. He looked quite pretty, honestly, when he ran his long-fingered hand across his face.

“This is the LaCroix’s house,” he determined.

“Do you know them?”

“Well enough to tell them to send a man to the guard,” Carew answered with a nod, taking the brass knocker of the backdoor into his hand.

A chambermaid opened, the tired look on her face wiped away as she saw them standing there in sleeping clothes.

“Duke Carew?” she said, as if she had seen a ghost. Nick would think that it was probably a lot more likely to meet a spirit than to see Carew traverse the streets around Grosvenor Square in his sleeping clothes, at that.

“Good evening, Anne.” Carew had gotten his voice under control again. It barely shook. “I’m very sorry to bother you so late, but this is an emergency. Can you please wake up Mrs LaCroix and one of your footmen?”

“Yes, certainly.”

She gave Nick a doubting glance as he followed Carew inside, probably unsure who he was, but since he was in the company of Carew, he was not questioned. Nick made sure the door was closed properly before he walked after Carew into the sitting room.

It took only a minute or two until Mrs LaCroix, wearing a dark mantle of soft fabric over her night gown, came in tow with a young servant rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Lord Carew!” she cried. “And your husband? Whatever happened to you?”

“I’m afraid criminals broke into my house. The guard must be sent for at once, Mrs LaCroix.”

“I think it was half a dozen of them, nearly,” Nick added, though he usually spoke very little before Carew’s acquaintances. “The watch must be told to send enough people or they might get hurt. Those crooks were armed.”

“Yes, of course. Run, Bobby, now,” she ordered the boy, who nodded rapidly and vanished down a hallway. “What a terrible thing! You must be so shaken. How did you escape?”

“I would not have if not for my husband,” Carew said. “Even had I noticed there were strangers in the house, I doubt I should have been brave or quick of mind enough to think of climbing out the window and onto the roof!”

Mrs LaCroix seemed interested and shocked in equal measures. This was a story the whole district would be telling by midday tomorrow, Nick was sure.

“Dreadful! I should not have dared it. Wait here, I will fetch my wife and you must tell us everything. I’ll wake the servants to make some tea, too – and I do have to get dressed!”

With these words, Mrs LaCroix bustled out of the room, leaving Carew and Nick alone. After a moment, Carew breathed out and sat down on a sofa. Nick took the place by his side. He could feel cold sweat drying on his forehead. The fear now came with delay.

_Bloody hell, we could have died._

“Are you alright, m’lord?” Nick asked.

He was used to this sort of thing, more than he’d ever wanted to be, but he was worried his husband’s nerves would not withstand such stress, especially after he had worked himself ragged lately.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” Carew murmured. “Which is all to your credit.”

“Who do you think they were? They must have come for you.”

“Supporters of the usurper, I should say. I have been doing a lot of work to sway factions our way these past weeks. They are surely hoping to weaken his Majesty’s side and frighten his allies.” He glanced at Nick. “Although now that I say that, it’s just as likely they wanted to kill us both.”

Nick was quiet for a moment as he chewed on that thought. It had not occurred to him as he saw the intruders, but surely his head on a pike would make for nice decoration in a rebel hideout. A shiver worked its way down his spine, but he did not allow panic to take over now.

“Well, we got out,” he said resolutely.

“Yes.” Carew let his head droop between his shoulders for a moment, uncharacteristic for him. When he looked back up at Nick, there was a smile on his face, though a small and lopsided one. “For a moment, when you came into the room, I thought you were there to join me for the night,” he admitted.

Nick gave a snort, remembering Carew’s startled face. He was so happy they’d survived that even the thought of his stillborn marriage could not chase the relief and exuberant mood away.

“Almost as scary as cutthroats, I’ll wager,” he muttered.

Carew gave him a long sidelong look. “Why would you say that, sir?”

Nick decided that they were one assassination attempt past niceties tonight.

“The king gave me to you like he gave you to me, and you’ve made it clear you’ve no interest. I’m not blaming you, but I admit I’d hoped you’d give it a try, at least. We’ll be stuck together no matter what, after all.” He stopped himself. “Though I suppose if your mind is made up, there’s little helping it. Sometimes that’s how it goes, isn’t it? You already know at first glance.”

“Mr Wright, I can assure you that is completely wrong!” Carew shouted.

This was the most animated Carew had ever been with him and it shut Nick up because of it. Carew seemed to struggle with himself after the outburst, but then ploughed on.

“Were you not told that when the king spoke of marrying you to someone of higher rank as a reward for your bravery, I volunteered?”

Nick stared at him, speechless for a moment. Carew held his gaze.

“No. I figured it was punishment. Why would you? You didn’t know me.”

“I had seen you, in fact. I was at court the night the guards brought you in, but as I stood in the crowd, I’m not surprised you did not notice me.” Carew hesitated briefly. “You left an impression on me when you spoke before the king – and I do believe it was not a wrong one, for you proved your bravery again tonight. I figured that if you were to be married off, it should be to someone who would be sure to appreciate you. Besides, I had been in want of a partner for some time now and have to care little about marrying for money or station, so I asked the king for your hand.”

“But if you wanted me, why did you do so little with me when you had me?” Nick spluttered.

Now Carew looked off to the ceiling.

“You did not seem comfortable. It occurred to me on our wedding day that you might come to resent me for plucking you from the life you had. Wealth and high reputation can heal such wounds for most people, I am sure, but your refusal of my offers of gifts and attempts to make your life easier made me wonder if you were too grounded a man to ever come to like me. My idea to court you during marriage was not as good as I’d thought, and the king needed me so much that I had to put all my other plans on hold.”

It took Nick a moment to throw together an answer to that.

“I didn’t take your gifts because you weren’t taking anything in return, begging your pardon. But as to my station… well, I’d be lying if I said I dreamed of being a duke’s husband.” He shook his head. “However, no one wants to be patrolling the streets for the rest of their life, either. You’ll probably not see sixty, and if you do, your body will be broken. You helped me already, making me your husband. I could apply for a better post. So it’s not true I didn’t take gifts.” He took a deep breath. “All that aside, though, I think you seem to be a really decent sort of fellow and that’s much more important than any titles you have or don’t.”

Carew looked more hopeful now, though his glance fell onto his lap.

“Still? As an alpha who needed his omega to hold his hand so he would not falter?”

Now Nick had to laugh, relief mixing with amusement at the fact that in some small ways, even the most educated alpha could still be as insecure as any dock worker you’d meet for a pint at the _Blue Man_.

“You’re a noble-born diplomat and I’m a man of the watch. It would have reflected poorly on me if you’d had kept a cooler head than myself. But if you wanted to be an alpha from a penny blood – ravishing omegas and such –, you should have taken my invitation when I said I’d wear those clothes for you…”

Carew grew pink again.

“I had figured you were insulted I tried to thoughtlessly dress you up in clothes that did not fit your occupation and taste.”

Nick wanted to tell him that he’d figured an awful lot, but then realised that he had to take on the same blame. If he’d not stood in such frozen awe before the title of duke and instead had pressed Carew harder for a discussion like he’d have done to any other man, they would not be sitting here like this.

Mrs LaCroix returned, fully dressed, with a pale, quiet woman at her arm and a servant carrying tea and biscuits behind her, ending the conversation. Carew was obliged to tell the story of their escape twice in great detail and by the time he had finished, there was a knock at the front door. An officer of the watch told them that five men had been apprehended in Carew’s house as they were still searching the sizeable mansion for a sign of its inhabitants, or perhaps valuables if their target could not be found, Nick guessed, since they would have to recuperate the lost payment for the contract somehow.

Carew thanked Mrs LaCroix and her wife profusely before he allowed two watchmen to escort them back to their house. Nick trudged along, happy for Carew to deal with this part of proceedings, and also very grateful not to be in the boots of his colleagues right now, having to spend the rest of the night awake on his feet guarding the broken door of a servant’s entrance.

“It will be exceedingly strange to sleep here now. I wonder if I should have taken Mrs LaCroix’s offer and spent the night,” Carew said as they were back in his bedroom.

“Best not to start getting afraid of an empty house, m’lord,” Nick answered. “It’s not going to get less intimidating as time passes. If people want to kill you, they can find other places to do it, too.”

He’d always believed that fears you couldn’t run from were best confronted as soon as possible.

Carew smiled a little.

“At least my protector is with me,” he said with a quick bow. “I will tell the king of what happened first thing in the morning. It might be best if we moved into the palace for a while until it is clear where the attack came from. I know the king, he will certainly be happy to prepare some guest rooms for us.”

“That makes sense,” Nick said, hesitantly. Sleeping here while a whole squad of the watch was buzzing about the place was no risk, but they should find out where exactly assassins were being sent from.

“You have concerns?” Carew guessed.

“No, it’s nothing big, not more important that getting safe.”

Carew just looked at him and Nick shifted uncomfortably from one naked foot to the other.

“I wager I’ll be, uh, indisposed sometime soon.” He’d felt the heat coming on for a couple days now, a slow warmth spreading from his core, easy to ignore for now, but probably not by tomorrow or the day after. “Just odd to leave my place behind in that time, my own blanket and such, and to be in a stone’s throws distance from the royal family with their whole court. But I’ll live.”

Though he didn’t feel truly at home here yet and hadn’t found much use for the sitting room that led to his bedchamber, said bedchamber had become a bit of a den. He’d never been one for nesting, but he did like to have familiar smells around him when he was in heat and he usually tried not to be in goddamn _Buckingham Palace_ of all places.

Carew needed only a moment to understand what he alluded to.

“That’s very unfortunate,” he said sternly. “I would like you to be as comfortable as possible.”

“It’s fine. You know, when I was young, it hit me while I was on patrol once. Had to barricade myself into a basement under a burned-out tailor’s shop for a couple days before I could limp home.”

Carew stared at him.

“You must be joking.”

Nick walked to the window and shut it properly.

“Wish I was. Makes for a good story, though.”

They stood in silence for a moment before Nick decided that he had spent enough time dithering. Locking eyes with Carew, he said: “If you feel nervous ‘bout them crooks, I’ll stay here for the night. Your bed is big enough.”

A smile spread on Carew’s face.

-

“I told them to expect you. I’m very sorry.”

Carew threw another cross look over his shoulder at the guardsman who had called him to the palace gates to confirm that indeed Nick was not a vagabond looking to gain unlawful entry. After he had dragged a gaggle of inspectors through the narrow streets of Little Dublin all day, leaving him caked in mud up to the knees and wet as a dog, Nick couldn’t really blame them.

“They’re on edge after what happened, I get it,” he said. He could only imagine the talking-to they must have gotten after the princess’ disappearance. “It’s fine. How was your day, m’lord?”

“Long, and it’s not quite over. I’m in an assembly with the dukes of the southern counties at the moment.”

“Oh… well, I’ll probably find the right suite if you tell me where to go,” Nick answered. 

He’d really rather not streak about Buckingham Palace and accidentally open the wrong door, but he also knew that would cause less disturbance than keeping his husband from his duties. However, Carew shook his head.

“I will bring you, sir,” he said stubbornly. “The meeting will not fall apart if I’m not there for ten minutes.”

He led him through the front door and from there down a high hallway and across the wide inner courtyard. Nick was suddenly reminded of their wedding day, where he had walked through here, too, the apprehension that had squeezed his ribcage tight. He didn’t feel that now as he looked at Carew’s straight back, just a little regret that he could not steal him away from his work right now. Even just sleeping next to him last night had been quite nice.

The door to their suits was double-winged and made of dark wood. Carew led him through the reception room and gestured towards the back.

“You will want to wash up and rest, I’m sure. If you need food, don’t hesitate to call the servants. This is your bedchamber.”

Nick looked through the open door at a wide bed. It was bigger even than the one he had at home, but the mattress was too small, though someone had artfully arranged pillows and the drapes hanging from the frame to hide that fact. Now that he compared the two beds in his mind, he noted that the pillows and blanket did in fact look strangely familiar.

“Did you have my whole bed brought into the palace, m’lord?” he asked, puzzled, glancing over his shoulder. “With the mattress?”

Quietly, Carew cleared his throat. He looked a little embarrassed.

“Not the frame or curtains,” he noted, as if in his defence.

Nick had to laugh.

“I was very concerned that you should be in such a state without your usual surroundings, and – only the blanket and pillows seemed too little to really carry a familiar scent!” Carew explained.

This was madness, but Nick couldn’t help but be touched by Carew’s overactive attempt to make him feel better. Personally, he’d have just kept a few of his old shirts around and hoped for the best.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly.

-

It was not really his bed and it was still Buckingham Palace, but Nick wondered if being surrounded by his things made him feel a little too secure. Certainly he hadn’t expected his heat to come on so quickly. The warmth pooling in his stomach woke him from sleep sometime around midnight. The first thing he noted beyond that was the wet sound his thighs made as he moved his legs, slick between them. His half-hard cock was pushing against the balled-up blanket he’d hugged in his sleep.

With a sigh, he turned on his stomach and buried his face in a pillow. Wanking would only make him more desperate for an alpha’s touch, so he was better off just trying to go back to sleep. Usually, he had little hopes of doing so once the heat really started, but he’d had an exhausting day, so perhaps if he was lucky...

The door opened quietly, but Nick felt the draft on his overheated skin. He turned his head a little to throw a glance over his shoulder. Carew gazed through the gap between door and frame, illuminated by a small lamp he was carrying. Nick wondered if Carew could smell him over there. He had to, right? Because Nick smelled _him_ and it was mouth-watering.

“Got the other dukes handled?” he asked, voice rough with sleep.

Carew straightened a little.

“Yes. I apologise, I didn’t meant to wake you. I just wanted to make sure you were fine.”

“’s alright,” Nick murmured, sitting up and running a hand through his short hair. It was damp with sweat. The heat of his body and the humid warmth of the night were not a great combination.

Carew hesitated in the doorway and Nick was very grateful for that hint of impropriety. It gave him a sliver of hope.

“Ah, I should prepare to go to sleep myself,” Carew said quietly.

Nick threw all coyness to the wind.

“My mattress is big enough for two, you know. Granted, I can’t promise you’ll do much sleeping.”

“I’m not sure if you can make such decisions right now. I would not like you to regret it,” Carew gave back uncertainly.

 _Fair enough_ , Nick thought. He wouldn’t want that on his conscience, either, were he Carew. Luckily, it wasn’t a problem for him.

“Don’t you worry about that. I don’t really get foggy-headed.” Just horny, though that could be bloody distracting. “But I’m not going to twist your arm, m’lord.”

He could see in the way Carew shuffled and let the light sway in his hand that he was trying for some sort of proper response. However, even Carew was a human of flesh and blood. Nick was his husband, he was offering himself on the shiniest silver platter, and hadn’t Carew proclaimed himself that he liked Nick and had chosen him? Trying to follow the thoughts that might be going through Carew’s head, there was really no reason Nick could see why he should reject him now. His heart beat a little faster.

It seemed like Carew had come to the same conclusion, for he finally stepped into the room and shut the door behind himself, carrying the small light with him. Nick grinned and sent a quick prayer to God for his mercy as he watched Carew place the lamp on a table.

“I’m at your disposal,” Carew said, as he stepped up to the bed. “I – well… !”

“You said you were at my disposal,” Nick answered with badly manufactured innocence.

As soon as Carew had come into reach, he’d jumped to perch on the edge of the bed and undone the buttons at the front of his trousers.

Carew gave a laugh that was a little too strangled to sound casual.

“You’re right,” he admitted.

When Nick pulled his prick from his underwear and put his mouth on the soft skin, he chanced a glance upwards, suddenly remembering the conversation he’d had with his friends at the wedding. From the wide-eyed look Carew was giving him, all wondrous surprise, he would suspect he had the variation of noble here that didn’t spend every weekend in the pleasure houses lining King’s Place off Pall Mall. It didn’t surprise Nick; Carew was much too decent for that, not to mention a little prude. Still, it seemed like the vastly better option to him. Even should he be somewhat inexperienced or only used to a certain way of doing these things, likely with the lights off and under the sheets, Nick could still teach him if he was just a little receptive; and considering his prick was growing hard in his mouth with admirable speed, he had hopes here.

“Goodness,” Carew muttered. His hands fidgeted at the corner of Nick’s vision for a moment and then settled gently on his shoulders.

Nick could feel himself grow wetter as he pushed his head down on Carew’s prick, swallowing it down. The scent was overwhelming and the promise of Carew’s manhood finally between his legs very distracting; but aside from all his animal instincts going mad, there was a small, softer part of him that he liked to pretend he did not have delighted at the fact that Carew look so pleased as he glanced down at Nick. Nick smiled before he bobbed his head, covering with a firm grip of his hand what he couldn’t get inside his mouth. His tongue wrapped around the length in his mouth and Carew made a wordless noise.

He really would have loved to draw this out, but his patience had been at an end before Carew had even entered the room. Nick pulled back and gave the head of his prick a last kiss before he crawled backwards on the bed and kicked off his loose breeches. Carew watched him closely, out of breath, and this time he needed no prompting by Nick, but quickly settled over him.

“Can I-”

“ _Please_ ,” Nick interrupted.

Carew grabbed his thighs to hitch up his arse and pushed slowly into him. He showed remarkable restraint even now; Nick, in contrast, had none. He squirmed in his grasp, trying to get him inside him more quickly, but Carew kept on steady until he’d seated himself all the way in him. Nick groaned.

“You really have to think I’m the ugliest thing in the city,” Nick complained breathlessly. Most alphas could barely keep themselves from jumping an omega in heat and taking them on the ground when the bed was three feet away. “How else are you doing this?”

Carew put his hand on Nick’s head, cradling it against his palm.

“My self-control is no criticism to you. In fact, I fear if I let the reins slip, I will not be able to pick them up again.”

Nick ran his hand up into Carew’s hair and pulled out the band, allowing the strands to spill over his shoulders. God, he was handsome.

“You worry too much,” he said. “I can take you, m’lord. I want it.”

Carew dropped his head to Nick’s shoulder, stifling a noise against his neck. He placed a few kisses there before he finally moved his hips and Nick quickly put his legs around them too keep him where he needed him. The drag of Carew’s clothes against his naked legs had him shivering, and finally Carew was putting his back into it, bringing them so close that Nick’s prick was pushing up against the soft fabric of his waistcoat.

There was something so nice about lying here in just an askew shirt while such a posh man in all his pretty clothes was fucking him. Nick grasped onto him, fisting his jacket with one hand, a handful of his silky strands in the other, and he feared he was pulling a little too tightly for comfort, but it only seemed to spur Carew on.

Nick was shivering all over a few strokes in. He’d always felt that he paid for his clear-headedness during the heat with the fact that his body did not stand up well to it, so easily manipulated with every touch, overstimulated, entirely shaking apart when an alpha was on him, driving him to his peak too quickly. He held on to Carew, who was still kissing his neck, still pushing into him, arms bracketing Nick’s head on the mattress, and came abruptly with a long moan.

Carew rode him through it and didn’t stop when Nick laid panting on his back with his arm wrapped lazily around Carew’s shoulders. He made an effort to keep himself tight, though it sent more shocks up his spine to do so, and he felt so slippery now, so easily invaded, that he wondered if it did any good. He’d be ready for round two at this rate before his husband had finished once. But Carew did lock up eventually, deep inside him, and Nick could feel his cock twitching in him as he filled him with his seed.

“Impressive stamina, m’lord,” Nick said, grinning, after they had laid together in silence for a moment.

Maybe he was fast during the heat, but Carew had held on longer than most men, especially considering Nick had already blown him.

Carew lifted his head, wiping damp strands out of his face, and gave a pale smile.

“Yes, but I’m afraid I’ve been told it gets tiring after a while.”

“Just a question of how to make use of it,” Nick said. He already had ideas.

Carew looked at him for a moment, propped up on one arm. Then he leaned down and placed a kiss that was almost chaste on his lips.

“We did skip this part,” he said.

Nick, who had never dealt to well with the dancing of butterflies in his stomach and had a whole storm of them there now, grabbed the back of his head and gave him a proper kiss with teeth and tongue that left Carew looking satisfied and bashful.

When Carew separated from Nick, a sudden cloud cast a shadow over Nick’s sunny mood.

“Now I really did ruin a set of clothes,” he noted, looking at the stains all over Carew’s waistcoat and trousers.

Carew glanced downwards.

“I’m sure those can be cleaned. Besides, it would be a sacrifice I’ve gladly made for my husband.”

It was fun, Nick would admit, to hear Carew sound so stupidly proud calling him that. Felt like he was actually married.

-

“Will you be comfortable while I’m gone?”

“No,” Nick said, pulling gently at Carew’s cravat. Just about every part of him wanted to bodily stop him from leaving; but he also knew there were more important things Carew had to deal with than Nick. “But I can look forward to your return.”

Carew placed his hand briefly over Nick’s. He looked happy, but undeniably tired, with dark shadows under his eyes.

“I will be back soon.”

“I promise I will let you sleep before I command you again.”

“That’s very considerate of you, but I’m not sure I could, having you close.”

Carew was perhaps not just being charming. Last night, he’d been as eager as Nick to stay awake. They had come together at least four or five more times – some details were lost to the haze of pleasurable exhaustion Nick felt himself. There had also been a stretch when, encouraged by Nick’s willingness to grant Carew access to his body, his husband had fingered him for what must have been the better part of an hour, teasing and exploring, growing bolder with Nick’s reactions. Perhaps he could sustain himself with those memories until Carew returned.

-

Nick had only just finished his breakfast and settled into bed, trying to convince his simmering body to nap, when the door opened again. To his surprise, he found Carew standing there.

“Did you forget something?”

“His majesty told me that considering circumstances, I should go back to my husband,” Carew said with a sheepish smile.

“You told the king that I’m in heat?”

Nick felt like he must have stepped through the mirror into another world. He’d certainly had never seen himself chide his husband for a lack of propriety.

Carew sat down at the edge of the bed.

“Do not believe I would be so quick to tell everybody. My mother was a diplomat at court. I grew up alongside the king. There is always the difference in status, of course, but we consider each other almost as brothers.”

“Oh.” That didn’t sound as unreasonable, Nick had to admit; and the king sending an old friend back to his husband’s bed with a slap on his back was a better mental picture than imagining the two men navigating the topic of Nick’s heat with courtly language. “Sometimes I forget I barely know anything about you, m’lord.”

“It seems we have some time now to learn about each other.”

Nick put his head on Carew’s shoulder and embraced him from behind.

“Indeed. Long live the king,” he answered with a grin.


End file.
